Trusting My Body Bouldering

I went bouldering last night at Rock Climb Fairfield – putting my Bowspring form to the test. I tackled the first climb thinking oh man I’ve so got this, I’m gonna fly right up that wall. Only to make it past maybe the 3rd hold before falling onto the crash pad.

We spent well over an hour at the gym and each time I approached the wall I realized it wasn’t about tackling the wall head on, full throttle – it was about slowing down, calming down, and – dare I say – NOT trying so hard.

When I reminded myself not to try so hard, my body started working more efficiently. Miracles didn’t happen, I did not skyrocket to the top, I was humbled each time I attempted the easiest climbs as I maybe only made it to the top twice. I noticed though that I was able to use my body to my advantage as I shifted my feet and my hips from side to side, tapping into the power in my legs rather than gripping for dear life.

You don’t have to try so hard, I kept reminding myself. Each time I gave myself permission to do that, I made small gains and started to get more of an understanding of how this bouldering stuff works.

I have gone climbing (indoors and ONCE outdoor!) a handful of times and confronted my fears of heights, falling, and failing. It was not until yesterday that I started to see how I could work WITH my body rather than against it. I could work WITH the wall rather than fight it.

I wasn’t just reaching with my arms but with the power in my legs and the desire in my heart to not get down on myself for falling but instead to just keep going. Even when I fell, I did not get discouraged: instead I rested, recovered, and hopped back up to try the next climb. And when I tried again I moved slowly, calmly, efficiently, and trusted my body.


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What will be great about today?

I sometimes wake up in a mindset of lacking or scarcity and I fixate on what’s not going well or what I don’t have. It could be from a dream or anxiety I took to bed with me from the night before.


When this happens, I wake up feeling lacking and I go through my morning ritual – rise, rinse face, drink water and coffee, meditate – hoping that it will shake the feeling of scarcity. The feeling that I am not doing enough, not creating enough, not putting enough out into the world, on my website, on social media, in a newsletter…


But then someone asked me a question this morning: What will be great about today?


And I was flooded with so many answers…


A new trail run with a good friend.

Valuing my time.


Morning meditation with my two cats curled in my lap.

Hot coffee and flax granola for breakfast.


Time to write. TIME TO WRITE!

Waking up later than 5AM.

Seeing you.

Listening to music in my car.


This question made me notice all the abundance in my life, in my today.

It made the “not enough”-ness seem like more than enough.


Ask yourself the question: What will be great about today?


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Staying Big in Paris

Why I’ll always chose the Croque Madame over the salad.

Returning to Paris as an adult and staying big means not giving a f*ck about whether I’m wearing the right thing. It means speaking French with an accent I once felt self-conscious about and not caring if I make a mistake or throw in an English word or two — or five. It means eradicating expectations about what my trip will be like. It means seeing all the beautiful French women — I mean they are STUNNING — and being in awe of them instead of comparing myself to them.  Paris is a new experience this time. I’m an adult. A real “I pay my own rent and (mostly) have my shit together” adult. The last time I was here was 2009 for a few days for work and before that was my study abroad spring 2005 and before that a study abroad summer 2003. That summer started my love affair with the city: the food, the wine, and the men (actually, just one man). So when I first stepped foot on the Metro after taking the RER commuter rail from the airport, the smell immediately brought me back to the many metro rides I took with friends to make it to a bar, already warmed up with a gentle buzz from the 3EUR wine we pre-gamed with at home because, who were we kidding, we couldn’t afford most of the places we were going to.

The smell of the subway reminded me of museum hopping that summer, wondering what kind of trouble we’d get into, and being slightly irresponsible 20-somethings. It brought me back to French house parties and driving past le Tour Eiffel lighting up the night. My petit ami (my guy) was a DJ and he had friends. And his friends were single and looking for girlfriends for the summer and it all came together so perfectly: we got to party and drink and eat a lot for next to nothing. And we had the time of our lives. I remember the party where I licked red wine dripping down the side of my glass and a smelly Frenchman stuck his nose up and told me how rude and unladylike I was. I remember being terrified of making a mistake when I spoke French so I would often resort to English or half-ass my French accent even though I knew damn well how to pronounce everything. I was terrified of judgement. The judgement was already there though – it was my own. It lay in my own rules that I couldn’t make a mistake and had to be perfect. Heaven forbid I sounded stupid speaking French.

I learned many things that summer. I learned how to take care of myself in a foreign country (with only a few stumbles here and there), how to navigate Paris’ intricate metro system, how to make a quiche with my host mom, and how to have an eating disorder abroad. I learned and perfected the ability to sustain and hide my eating disorder in one of the most glamorous cities in the world.

I have a memory embedded in my body: the memory of being in Paris the summer of 2003 for study abroad and amongst all the friends, the partying, the museums, the dancing, the men, the food and the wine I lived through a food calculator and made myself throw up wherever and whenever I ‘needed’ to. I was so unstable and unsure of myself that whenever I went on a date, I downed a glass of wine to settle my nerves and feel a little more confident. Before leaving the US I made a promise to myself that I would not throw up in Paris.


I broke my promise only 4 days after my arrival when homesickness set in and I “felt fat” after a big dinner. I returned to my host family’s empty apartment (my host mother being a very successful lawyer was almost never home) feeling terrible about myself and sweating my ass off because it was summer and most Parisians don’t need their homes to feel like the arctic circle by blasting AC. I put on my sleep shorts and tank top, felt my belly had grown a little since my last meal and decided I had to take care of this. I had to fix myself, immediately.  I went into the lawyer’s bathroom which had an ornate antique clawfoot tub and a hanger for my intimates drying overhead. It was in the bathroom where I made myself throw up — in the ornate antique toilet — over and over again. The smell of the bathroom was unfamiliar at first but as the summer progressed that smell caused a gut reaction (no pun intended) to purge.

The shame I felt: here I was studying abroad in Paris for a summer. Having the time of my life and making myself puke. All that good food and wine, gone to waste. People just don’t DO that, right?

At the end of my summer I spent a few nights in London with my mom and sister. We shared a hotel room which meant we also shared a bathroom. After one very indulgent dinner, I made sure I was the first one back to the hotel room so I could purge in private. Immediately after, I felt awful, but also felt the comforting emptiness that accompanies the act of purging. I put on my PJs and crawled into bed. When my mom returned to the room, she must have seen some residual throw up in the toilet and asked if I was feeling ok. Mortified. I was mortified. I buried my head in my pillow and muttered ‘yeah I’m fine, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I fucking flat out lied.


Always chose the croque madame.

Now, 12 years later, I am in Paris with my mother, sharing a hotel room, and a bathroom. I will be honest, I sometimes revisit my small fear that if I eat all this bread I’m going to turn into a cream puff. But am I really that worried about all the pain au chocolats I’m eating during this special week away? Nope. Am I afraid of all the butter in all the things? Not one bit. Can I put the fear away and simply enjoy myself? Can I say “Bring it Cream Puff, I’m also going to dive into this grand marnier soufflé and enjoy every morsel. And when I wake up tomorrow, I’m going to start my day with another croissant and not give it a second thought.”?

The answer to that question is a resounding YES.

Because in the end even if I do turn into a demi-baguette, it doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t matter. I chose to go on this trip to spend time with my mother, to eat the food, drink the wine, soak up the culture, and be in awe of all the beauty that exists in this great city. I did NOT come here to poke at my midsection and ponder “how can I fix this? Should I eat the boring salad or the croque madame?”

A new rule is established: Always chose the croque madame.

Not only do I keep a big picture in terms of what I eat (go for what I want) but because I care less about being perfect in my body, I care less about speaking perfect French. Now I can say “can we please have l’addition?” (“The check”) without being self conscious that I am blending the phrases while perfectly pronouncing ‘l’addition.’ Because really what is there to be so afraid of? The worst case scenario is someone doesn’t understand and asks me to repeat myself. Ok no biggie! And best case: they get it, they understand, and respond in French. Boom!

If someone told me to “Stay big” 12 years ago in Paris, the word big would have scared me, made me squeamish, and want to run away and retreat. Now there is still some residual shame and fear of “messing up” or not wearing the “right” thing. But my guiding voice in my heart consistently reminds me to Stay Big. When I let my heart lead and stay big I order the croque madame in my best possible somewhat broken French and have a cream puff for dessert because I’m only in Paris with my mom so many times in my life.


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My first shirtless race

Dozens of questions coursed through my mind at mile 6.7 of America’s Finest City Half Marathon. Did I need to take my next GU? How was my knee going to hold up? Was it time to take my shirt off? And that’s when my race got interesting. That’s when it became my first race with no shirt on.runningshirtless

It wasn’t something planned or premeditated. In fact I based my decision primarily on comfort more than anything else. Drenched in my own sweat, my race singlet became sticky and heavy. Like wearing leather pants on a piping hot day. Sweat happens when you’re running in 90% humidity and temps well over 80 degrees.

It was one of those “fuck it” moments after running 6.7 miles completely exposed to the sun. The AFC Half does not afford many opportunities for shade. As I peeled off my leathery shirt it was like a thousand angels sang from above and my skin breathed a deep sigh of relief. This changed the tone of my race from heat and humidity suppression to light and fancy free running through the streets of downtown San Diego … shirtless!

This was not an act to draw attention. This was, as I mentioned before, largely for comfort. And then it turned into so much more. For the rest of my race, the remaining 6.4 miles, I thought about how over my endurance career of nearly 6 years I had not completed a single race shirtless. It’s not that I always wore a more breathable shirt. No, I can recall many a time I wished I could take strip down to just my sports bra and shorts.

The reason I never dared to bare was because I felt so ashamed of my body. Completely and utterly ashamed of my imperfect, puffy belly and the way the bulge gathered right above the waistband of my shorts. Not to mention the armpit bulge. I know – I probably sound like a total asshole to some of you, feeling shameful about my body. But listen – this is something we are conditioned to feel regardless of what we may look like to others. And for me, I simply couldn’t stand the thought of what my race pictures might turn out to look like or what onlookers might think as they saw me jiggling by. (And who says “jiggling” is a bad thing, anyway?)

This year for the first time ever I trained several times with just my sports bra and shorts and while it took a great deal of self-talk to get the point of ditching my shirt, it was the most liberating feeling of all time. I not only trained for the mileage but also the courage to bare my body in a way that was meaningful and powerful to me.

It’s important to me that I walk the talk, put my money where my mouth is, and so forth with everything I am trying to encourage others to do. Loving, even simply accepting our bodies as they are is really challenging work. And there are so many layers that we have each developed over time based on experiences and teachings that we are conditioned to believe without ever questioning – what’s wrong with cellulite anyway? Who made up that rule?? Because, can somebody PLEASE tell me who made up the rule that cellulite is the devil?

I am inspired when people are unapologetically themselves. And maybe that’s why this particular experience was so empowering. Running without a shirt on comes with practical purposes like staying cool but it’s something I have only dreamed of doing. In previous years I would stop myself because I wouldn’t want anyone to be offended by my body. It feels like stepping even more into who I am – and it’s a part of myself that I am still starting to uncover. And it’s insanely cool to continue getting to know this unashamedly bold and brave part of myself that I always knew was somewhere down there in the adorable cushions of my belly.IMG_3697

Still I cringe sometimes when I see the race photos from AFC Half Marathon. But I remind myself that part of the work is going through this process with the ability to start to change perspective. So I then go back to the photos and look at them instead with approval rather than criticism. It doesn’t have to be exuberant love, Just looking at ourselves with acceptance.

If running without a shirt helps me unveil the boldest parts of myself and learn to love my body, then by god I’m sticking with it. (The same holds true for yoga without a shirt on!)

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When Releasing Body Shame Feels Like Letting Go of a Bad Relationship


Crouching Cat. Photo by Kelsey Finkle.

Sometimes when I feel so disgusted with my body, I am reminded of what it’s like to be in a bad relationship. The kind where you walk on eggshells around each other and forget anything else can possibly exist. It’s the one you just can’t bear to part with because you are afraid. Self-loathing becomes your security blanket, where it’s all you know. It’s your default because it feels safe. Who knows what terrors could happen should you dare to toss the blanket aside and find a new one.

Just like walking away from a bad relationship, turning off the self hatred switch is easier said than done. It will be hard as fuck, will make you scared shitless, totally vulnerable, and naked to the world. At the same time, it is something you never regret and it is one of the best things you will ever do for yourself.

Consider the way you talk to yourself. Be completely honest – what are the kinds of things you say to or about yourself? It is not uncommon for most men and women to verbally self-abuse. Imagine if you started speaking this way to the people in your life. They wouldn’t tolerate it for one second.

We default to negative self-talk because somewhere along the way we learned it is bombastic or pompous to think we are attractive. We learned we are not entitled to have an honest, clear view on ourselves. We have to first go through a filter, after which point it is then appropriate to determine our worth. And even then, we still suck. We are conditioned to act this way because we have gone through years of training and so this paradigm is far easier to exist in than changing our ways.

In the exact same way, it becomes easy to fester in an unhealthy relationship. We get accustomed to the silence that speaks volumes. It is seemingly effortless to tweak who we are for the sake of pleasing someone else, while we know damn well this person is not serving us.

The negative self-talk does not serve us either. Who told you to determine your self worth based on whether or not you have a thigh gap? Or that stilettos are objectively sexier than birkenstocks? It’s time to erase their message from your mind, permanently. The way you would erase a voicemail from an ex-lover on an old answering machine, and then throw away the tape for good measure.

How do we begin to redefine beauty? How do we release old beliefs of what our body should look like? How do we make up our own body beautiful rules?

One thing we can do is choose an empowering modality, such as a postural practice like Bowspring, to connect with the body. Move in a nourishing manner. Whether you select yoga, zumba, running, or hiking, the movement is not for the sake of weight loss and changing who you are but instead to wake up to who you already are. We want to wake up the little light deep inside.

Find a modality to wake up and be present within the body you are given. When you move, embrace the shapes you create. The shapes are beautiful not because anybody else says so, but because you believe so.

If we always try to comply with certain rules and regulations about what we should look like, or a certain way we should behave, we will live in the drone of an unhappy relationship. Only this time the relationship is with ourselves. Changing habits and patterns is hard work, but much like walking away from that stifling relationship, it is worth the pain and the effort.

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BodyLoveCT video with lululemon athletica

Please join me for this very special event.

With Love,



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From foundation, finding freedom in the body

How is it that we can be so cruel to ourselves that we wish we could chop off a handful of body fat?

I shot a short video this week for my upcoming workshops on body image. Lee, the videographer, had it all organized and planned out, she told me exactly what I needed to do. It couldn’t have gone smoother in that regard.

She prompted me to write down the good and the bad about my body. Both of which caused a different kind of dis-ease: I felt deeply saddened to see how easily I could conjure what I dislike and on the other hand slightly embarrassed or pompous for what I did like. Am I being bombastic by saying I’m damn sexy?FullSizeRender

Lee suggested we do a shot with me just in yoga pants and a bra. Sure thing! I’m comfortable practicing this way, so why not?

Before we shot I changed into a “better bra” – it made no difference but as I was pulling the black bra over my shoulders I realized I was doing this in an attempt to look slimmer. Oh my god. I stopped myself. I realized it made no difference which bra I chose or how I looked – what mattered was this internal dialog. This manipulation of my mind that I could care SO MUCH about which bra I wore for the shoot. Which bra would be more flattering to my tummy? Which bra would dig in the least on my back? This was what I was really looking for.

Now there were practical purposes: I wanted a black bra since the shoot was black & white and I thought that would read clearer on camera.

As I stood against the blank wall, holding my #BodyLove sign, belly exposed, Lee with camera in hand – I felt terribly uncomfortable. Lee asked me to smile. I thought “from where?” I felt like a lump standing in front of the camera. I felt like a TOTAL JOKE. I didn’t have this body image shit down at all!

But this is the reality of our relationships with our bodies: we are always going to have those moments, days even, where we can be really down on ourselves.

The last thing Lee had me do was a very brief yoga practice to get some movement shots. As I angled into side chair I could feel the little side rolls where my tummy and back meet. These rolls have been a sore spot for me. As a child I would look at myself in the mirror, tilt sideways and see how much fat I could gather in one hand. I wished I could cut it all off.

This time though, instead of hatred for the rolls, I had nothing but love and support.

It’s difficult to describe but this part of my body that I have tried for so long to make disappear is now one of my most favorite things about me. My perspective has completely shifted so that when in a side bend I feel the rolls building one on top of the other and like a solid foundation beneath a house, they hold my heart up. From foundation I find freedom.

When I stepped into my yoga practice during the shoot, I reconnected with my body. It felt like “Phew, OK, this is me. I am home.” I disconnected from the self-loathing thoughts and was able to transport myself to reveling in the shapes my body created. These shapes are unique to my body and mine alone.

The contrast is remarkable: between the judgement over the image I see in the mirror and that of feeling love for my body radiating from the inside out. It is such a full feeling that even the nastiest thought about my body can’t ever compete. A learning moment came from this video shoot which was to reinforce how powerful a yoga practice can be for appreciation and acceptance of our bodies.

When approached with an open mind and an open heart, the practice connects you with your body. This connection is pure and free from criticism, judgment, or hate. This connection is about love.

A deep thank you to Lee Tripler for her time and talent on the video shoot.
If you are local please check out my events page for information on the lululemon launch class & party (July 17) and a workshop at Catch a Healthy Habit (July 30).

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It’s Safe to Feel What You Feel

2442995055_97a02d8124_z It was my second class this week at the eating disorder treatment center.

There was already a palpable tension as I walked in, like the feeling of seeing a someone hold a knife over someone’s chest the moment before a major surgery…you just don’t know what might happen.

A soft sobbing shape quietly whimpered.  Women filtered in to do yoga with heads hung low. The crook in their torsos and abdomens hinted at a deep dark secret concealed below the layers of uncomfortable skin and shame.

Arranging the women so everyone had their space, pillows, blocks, etc., I placed a kind hand on the shoulder of the crying woman. A gesture to ask “are you alright?”, and let her know “you’re going to be okay”.

As I settled in to teach, I had an urge to spill my guts to these these women.

Read the full piece on Elephant Journal by clicking here.

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Forgive and Let Live

“Forgiveness clears out the old weeds and lets the sunlight in.”
– from friend and soul teacher, Josh Kane

My friend was sharing with me about his recent reconnection with an ex-girlfriend, or in his words a “past love.” I prefer his term past love as it holds more reverence and respect.

His experience was such that he felt a genuine joy from talking to this woman who I am sure at one point or another hurt him in some way. But he expressed that because of his ability to forgive her, he was finally able to derive joy and learning from the simple experience of reconnecting and hearing that she was on a much better path. He felt happy not only for his past love, but also for himself.

There was no filter, no ulterior motive, no agenda. What existed in its most pure and powerful form was forgiveness.

It got me thinking about my own experience with past loves. About how I can’t reach out with an open heart until all has been forgiven. And it’s not that I feel compelled to remain best buds with my exes (believe me, I have tried and failed), but should the occasion occur where we are prompted to engage in casual conversation, or perhaps call upon one another for a family tragedy, it’s nice to know you can interact with integrity and respect. No agenda. No ulterior motives.

I want you to think about how it feels to hold a grudge. Come on – we’ve all been there, I know you’ve done it. I have! When we hold a grudge, when we hold onto the way someone hurt us, when we hold onto the OLD STORY, we perpetuate and live in the old patterns and habits. Even if we have found a new partner, new friends, or a new career. When we hold a grudge we are doing ourselves the greatest disservice: we are depleting our own energy (and time!) by festering on what might have been instead of relishing in what is.

How can we appreciate the person, the love, the compassion that is presented right in front of us when we are stuck churning over past pain?

I don’t want to discount experiencing feelings to their fullest. In fact, I realize the necessity to feel our full spectrum of feelings in order to be able to forgive. When we suffocate the hurt and pretend we are hunky dory, that’s when forgiveness can seem to be eons away. We build ourselves the proverbial “wall.”

Every forgiveness will not lead to a restored friendship or even an amicable relationship between past loves. Sometimes all it means is that you forgive someone in your heart and let live. You let them live their life and you go on living yours.

The big difference however is that when you live your life you no longer carry the old story, the resentment, the anger, or perhaps even the fear that a wrong-doing will happen to you again.

You are OK with the fact, with the plain and simple truth, that it’s highly probable someone in your life will hurt you again. And again, and again, and again.

Forgiveness benefits the other person, absolutely. But when we forgive we are actually giving ourselves a beautiful gift. We are giving ourselves permission to proceed forward. It is not that we forget those who have crossed our paths, loved us and hurt us – no, they stay with us like a dear old shoe. But we can move forward with grace, so that we can approach that person with respect and truth. And so that we can treat ourselves with utmost respect and truth.

It is in this way that when we enter into new relationships and friendships we recognize what our values are. So that we can surround ourselves with the best possible people.

For some reason I keep thinking back to a particular past love. Let’s call him Tyler.

Tyler and I had what you would call a whirlwind romance. We fell in love hard and quickly. The relationship lasted about two years and seemed to crumble just as fast as it was built. Of course in retrospect, I see that it was built on very dissimilar values and a lack of truthful communication.

In the end there was so much hurt. This was the first time I really felt that sensation of my heart being ripped out of my chest. Torn into shreds. And then stomped on by angry elephants.

Tyler and I reconnected about a year after our break up and of course we hurt each other again. Or really, I hurt him. Why? Because I had never forgiven him. What followed was a slew of who could hurt the other person more, with him finally coming out “on top” with a mean email to beat all mean emails in life. An email that made me feel like a worthless piece of shit. The communication stopped there. Right in its tracks. I realized that responding to him in a similar manner would do me no good. Would only perpetuate the hurt. But then what? What was next?

It has taken me nearly three years to realize that what is next is the process of forgiveness. Forgiveness that can happen even though Tyler is no longer in my life. We no longer communicate in any form or function. We haven’t in three years.

I will sometimes sit at my computer, compelled to write him an email letting him know “I forgive you.” But I realize that’s not what is important. I am not looking for a response. I am not looking for an explanation. I am looking for a sense of relief, of letting go of the hurt that has rested and made a home in my heart.

As the hurt is let go and as I continue my process of forgiving Tyler, I start to open new opportunities, new doors for love in so many different ways. I also realize how I can start to forgive in other relationships and friendships. I notice the price we pay when we hold onto our hurt.

If it happens to be a past love – or present – allow yourself to feel the hurt. To get angry. Maybe even write it all down – as if you would present this in a letter to that person. But find your way to release it and to enter the process of forgiveness.

Forgiveness is power. Forgiveness is freedom. Forgiveness is a gesture of absolute love.

It is the magic potion that clears out the weeds and lets the sun shine in.

Check out Josh Kane and incredible yoga teacher Jennifer Buckman at Pop Up Yoga CT this summer – Yoga + Live Music = LOVE! 

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That’s their shit. Why you can’t please everybody.

IMG_7725I pay a lot of attention (ok probably way too much attention) to the unsubscribes from my email list. And I noticed that yesterday, someone marked my most recent email as “abuse.” My immediate reaction was a combination of expletives, anger, and a lot of complaining and attempting to explain why this had happened. (What had I done? I asked myself.)

This theme of pleasing everyone has come up a lot for me recently. Both for myself and for others very close to me.

I lived for a long time as a people pleaser. You could say I still do to a certain degree, but I am learning to let it go. Growing up and into my twenties I was constantly yearning to please my family, friends, colleagues, people I barely knew. God forbid I ever say something someone did not agree with.

When in the midst of trying to please everybody, or trying to control the outcome it now occurs to me … STOP, Just Stop. Because in no alternate universe do I please everybody, do I control the outcome, do I never offend.

I have always HATED the notion that a given situation might possibly be slightly uncomfortable, or extremely uncomfortable. (That there is MY own shit – and I’m working on being comfortable with discomfort, that this is normal, this is life!)

But then I remember: I am not a mind-reader. And you aren’t either.

And then I remember: there is absolutely no way I can please everyone. I probably can’t even please most of them.

I was at dinner with some friends and a hypothetical and potentially very uncomfortable situation came up. We were playing it out – how the situation might unfold and I chimed in “if they are disrespectful or unkind to you, that’s their shit.”

And oh how I needed to take my own advice!

It occurred to me it’s often as simple as that. If we go as far as we can for someone, through being open and honest and available, and yet there is still a lack of kindness and respect, then what it boils down to is: that’s their shit.

And guess what? It is highly likely that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, no amount of arguing or defending your case that will change that.

What’s funny is that I am writing this to primarily remind myself that …

I am not a mindreader.

I cannot please everyone.

If someone has a problem with me then most likely, that’s their shit.

But I would bet money that many of you reading this are in great need of that reminder as well. When do you find yourself bending over backward to gain acceptance? To please? To attempt controlling the outcome?

Maybe the next time you find yourself in that situation can you simply … let it go. And remember, You Are Not A Mindreader. You Cannot Please Everyone. Sometimes … That’s their shit.

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